The Plot (15 page)

Philip downed the last of his coffee. “She is a good woman, my
mama-san
."

After a moment, Max stood and pulled Philip from the chair. “I want you to go in there,” he pointed toward the sitting room off the kitchen, “and wait until I call you. I need to speak to Miss Hart."

Philip almost knocked his chair over as he hurried to obey.

Once they were alone, Max turned to face Cassie straight on. “Cassie, I don't like this. I don't like this one bit. Philip's being here places you in danger."

"But I won't
be
here after tonight,” she replied. “And he needs a place to stay. May Lee will be here tomorrow and can take care of him."

Max chewed on his lower lip and looked toward the sitting room. “I'd feel better if he was in jail."

Cassie's eyes widened. “Jail? Oh, no, Max. May Lee would never forgive me if I let you do that."

"Cassie, I had a long talk with Jonathon tonight."

"Is he okay?"

"Yes, fine ... considering.” He would have liked to tell her about his drive through the mountains, the fish he'd caught, the down-home meal the young couple had shared with him, but now was not the time. “Jonathon is deeply worried, not only about Philip but about you. Apparently, your father confided in him."

Cassie looked surprised. “What did he tell him?"

"According to Jonathon, your father was considering hiring some bodyguards. Someone had been tailing him on and off for several weeks, and your dad was concerned that they might try to get to him through you."

"They didn't,” Cassie replied. “They got to him, instead.” She frowned as she spoke. “Does Jonathon know what Daddy was working on? Or who was following him?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't say. Although he said something about Hamilton Bates that was puzzling."

"Hamilton Bates? I just saw him today. He said that he would help me find out why the FBI took over the investigation. He even assured me that I had nothing to fear.” She paused, wrinkling her forehead. “But, somehow, I didn't feel very reassured. What did Jonathon say?"

Max scowled at her. “I wish you hadn't done that."

"Done what? Speak to Uncle Hamilton? But he—"

"Cassie. Your father didn't trust him. I don't think you should either."

"Max. Uncle Hamilton would never hurt me."

Max nodded. “Apparently, your father believed the same thing. He told Jonathon that if anything did happen to you, it wouldn't be Bates’ doing. But for all his wealth and power, Hamilton Bates is just one of many and is consumed by his ambition. If that's true, then he's not the one to confide in or involve in our efforts. In fact, I believe he's the one that got the FBI involved. Remember when I told you about his repeated calls to my office? And that we found out his chief of security has a paid informant in the Department? I'm afraid your ‘Uncle’ Hamilton is not the person you thought he was."

She cocked her head and waited for him to go on.

"You have to understand, Cassie, there's just too much here to take anything-or anyone-at face value. It's obvious your father's death was not an accident.
Someone
paid to have him killed. And
someone
stole what your father was working on. Or tried to, at least. We don't know yet what they got. And we won't until we unravel this whole thing. But whoever is behind all of this is playing for keeps."

She nodded and sat up a little straighter. “So you think that what Daddy was working on had something to do with Hamilton Bates."

It was his turn to nod. “But I don't know if he's behind your father's death."

"Even
you
say he wouldn't harm me."

"
He
wouldn't, Cassie. But he can't guarantee that someone else wouldn't."

"Maybe that's why he suggested I take a vacation.” She leaned forward, knitting her eyebrows. “He said it would do me good to get away from here for awhile and suggested I go to the mountains."

"Is that where you're going tomorrow?” he asked.

"That's where I told
him
I would go. Gatlinburg, I said."

"But you're not."

"No. I'm going to go explore
your
old haunts.” She kept her voice low, glancing at the door that separated them from Philip. “I think I'll find it more, uh, enlightening.” She paused. “I can't just sit around here on my hands any longer."

"I wish I could go with you,” he said.

"You could draw me a map,” she suggested.

"I'll do that. Meanwhile, there's still the problem of Philip. Sooner or later, they'll find out they silenced the wrong guy and will be out gunning for him again. I'd hate to see you ... or May Lee ... caught in the crossfire."

Cassie propped her elbow on the table and rested her forehead against her hand, closing her eyes. “I hate to think about him being in jail,” she said, raising her head, a mournful look on her face. “If there's an informer at the Police Department, well, at least here, he has a fighting chance."

Max rubbed the corners of his mouth. “You may have a point, but I'd rather risk him than you."

"I'd rather not risk anyone,” she answered and hesitated before continuing. “I think Philip should stay here. I can't picture myself allowing him to be trapped like a rabbit in a cage. If your main concern is my safety, why don't you spend the night here, too? I'll be leaving tomorrow anyway, and we have three bedrooms upstairs. Philip can sleep in the guest room, and you could use my parents’ room. It's very comfortable."

Max stared at his hands folded on the table, feeling Cassie's eyes on him as she waited. He didn't like the idea of Philip being here with her, but unless he arrested him, he couldn't prevent it. He thought of his brown-eyed Alice and little Lisa. He hadn't been able to protect them, although he'd tried every day to keep them safe and secure. Sighing, he looked across at Cassie, in whose blue eyes he seemed able to see forever. He couldn't change her mind, but he could, at least,
try
to keep her safe.

Standing abruptly, he strode across to the sitting room door, where he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “I'll bunk on the couch, where I can keep a closer watch on things ... just in case you're as wrong as I think you are,” he said, aware of the huskiness in his voice that threatened to betray the emotion he had thus far been able to hide.

The Hoover Building loomed high above him as Max climbed the broad concrete steps. He'd taken this path many times during the two years he'd been with the FBI. He took a deep breath against the sense of raw power that emanated from within the massive walls and paused to look up at the bright blue sky. Somewhere up there, Cassie was on a flight to Tallahassee and a rendezvous with God knows what. He wondered again whether he should have gone with her. Doesn't matter. She's on her way, and I'm still here.

Squaring his shoulders, he stepped from the sunshine to the fluorescent lights of the lobby and identified himself to the security guard at the entrance. “Eduardo Lopez is an old friend,” he explained and, closing his wallet over the badge inside, strode down the long, tiled corridor to the far end. He didn't know if Ed would be in the office or not, but it was worth a try.

He was sitting behind the desk by the window and smiled when the door whispered open. “
Hola, amigo. Cómo estás
?” he asked, standing to shake Max's hand.

Max grinned and responded with what little Spanish he remembered from high school. “
Bien, gracias
. And yourself?"

"As good as can be expected, I guess. What are you doing in my neck of the woods?” Ed asked, motioning for him to have a seat. “Ready to come back to the big time?"

"Nah. It's still way
too
big for this country boy,” he replied. “I just happened to be over this way and thought I'd buy you some lunch."

Ed looked at the clock on the wall above the door. “Well, if you're buying, how can I say no?” The phone on his desk chimed, and he picked up the receiver, motioning for Max to stay where he was. “Lopez ... Yes, ma'am. I was just going through her file ... Not yet. It was only assigned to me this morning.” He rolled his eyes at Max. “Priority? Yes, I understand. Yes. Goodbye.” He hung up and made a face. “God, every time I talk to that crusty old witch I feel like climbing aboard
your
wagon."

"Be glad to have you. But ya know that ain't ever gonna happen. You like the money too much."

Ed threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Found me out. What else do you have on me?” he joked, standing and snapping his holster to his belt.

"I have it on good authority that you've got a fondness for blondes,” Max replied, standing up.

"
Tall
blondes,” his friend corrected him and, putting his gray suit coat on, led the way out. “So, where are you taking me? French? Mexican? Or, more likely, McDonald's?” he asked when they stepped outside and descended the broad stairs to the sidewalk.

"How about
Henri's
?” It had been their favorite restaurant when they worked together.

"I think I can handle that. As long as
you're
buying."

The air conditioning in the small French restaurant was a welcome relief from the scorching heat. Max slid gratefully into the corner booth at the rear where they could keep their backs to the wall and an eye on the door. A tall, blonde waitress appeared immediately with menus in hand, and Ed winked at Max, who grinned.

"I'll have the Quiche Lorraine and a tall glass of iced tea,” said the agent, declining the menu the waitress offered.

"Make that two. And I'd like my tea sweet."

"I'm sorry, sir,” she replied, tilting her head. “We don't have sweetened tea. But there's sugar and artificial sweetener on the table."

Max shook his head.
Nobody north of the Carolinas served sweet tea
. Except Cassie, he corrected himself.

Ed took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Bitchin’ hot out there.
Bitchin'
hot."

Max noticed that his friend had put on weight and no longer sported the deep tan that had been his one vanity. “Hot doesn't even begin to describe this weather,” he replied, wondering if the change in Ed's appearance was caused by working too hard or playing too little.

"So, mi amigo,” Ed began, putting his handkerchief away. “You still like your job at the P.D.? Or is it starting to get boring?"

Max shook his head. “Boring, it ain't, ol’ buddy. In fact, I've got somethin’ on my plate I thought I'd
never
be involved in."

Ed's eyes opened a little wider as he leaned forward. “Yeah? Sounds like you're worried that you might be in over your ugly head."

"Might be. I'm not sure yet. But since I'm buyin’ lunch, maybe you'll let me pick your brain a little between courses."

"I should've known there was no such thing as a free lunch.” He grimaced in mock disappointment. “Fire away."

Extracting a promise of confidentiality, Max explained-without going into detail-his suspicions about the death of Madison Hart, the subsequent burglary, and the body found in Philip's car.

"So how can
I
help?” Ed asked, leaning back as the waitress set their food on the table.

Max watched her leave, then poured three sugars into his tea and stirred it in silence as he wondered how to broach the subject. Finally, he looked across the table and spoke quietly. “Ed. I've been taken off the case."

"Why? By who?"

"The FBI. And ‘why’ is just what I'd like to know. Since when does the death of a writer merit the attention of the Castle Guard?"

"Mm, good question, my friend. A very good question indeed,” he said. He was quiet a long time, concentrating on the quiche. Finally, he wiped his mouth with the linen napkin and looked up. “Let me run something past
you
."

"I'm all ears."

"I've been assigned to find Madison Hart's secretary. She's apparently skipped the country. Didn't even show up for his memorial service. And the AG is breathing hot and heavy down my neck to find her."

"Hart's secretary?” Max acted perplexed. “What's her name?"

"Selena Cordon. Ever hear of her?"

Max took a sip of tea. “Yeah. Only a couple of days ago, in fact. Why the hell are they tying you up looking for a
secretary
?"

"Word is that she's more than that. In fact, the word they're using is counterintelligence agent."

Max almost choked on his food. “A
spy
? Man, you gotta be kiddin’ me."

"If it's a joke, nobody's laughin'.” Ed motioned to the waitress as he polished off the last of his lunch. “Want some dessert?"

"Naw. But I could use another glass of tea."

The waitress reappeared, ticked off the list of sweets, and Ed chose rainbow sorbet. When she left, Max spoke. “I may be able to help you out with that one. I'll see. But, meanwhile, you need to fill me in on what you know about the AG's interest in the Hart case."

Ed waited to answer until the waitress delivered his dessert, had refilled the tea glasses, and left. “Buddy, if I knew I'd tell you. All I can figure is that it must be tied in with the Cordon woman. I mean if she worked for Hart and is suspected of spying, that would explain
mucho. Comprendes?
"

Max's cell phone rang. He answered it as he walked to the counter to pay the bill. It was Ricky Sims.

"Whatcha got?” Max asked, pulling his wallet from his pocket.

"Got a line on that guy they found in Sinclair's car,” Sims said. “Thought you'd wanta know."

"Yeah? Talk to me."

"His name's Rei Takazawa. A Japanese kid who went to the same high school as Sinclair. He was identified from his DNA. Seems he'd been arrested about a month ago on misdemeanor marijuana charges. And get this. According to the autopsy, the kid died by drowning. He was shot
after
he was already dead. Can ya beat that?"

"No. I don't think I can,” Max responded slowly, letting the information sink in. Somewhere, sometime he'd come across another after-the-killing-killing, but he couldn't quite put his finger on the time and place. “Look. I'm just finishing lunch. I'll be in as soon as I can."